


Promises are promises, and this is one I intend to keep.

by DelicatePoem



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Library AU, No Magic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 05:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelicatePoem/pseuds/DelicatePoem
Summary: The smell of worn, well-read books is a comfort she should not take for granted. Alas, she still does, believing this place to be merely a way to pass the time away from her lonely house and not the crutch it surely is.





	1. who are we?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheOnlySPL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOnlySPL/gifts).



> _Character A doesn’t like staying in their house, so they spend most of their days in the library. Character B is a library volunteer, and they know that whenever they need help – they can’t find where a book goes, the extra ink pads have vanished again, a guest needs a book recommendation – that Character A can answer any question for Character B. [auideas on tumblr]_
> 
>  
> 
> Oh my, I had no idea it would take this turn, seriously, nor that I'd choose this pairing to work with. But this prompt I saw on Tumblr just BEGGED for me to write it, lol. I tried to stick with one of your prompt ideas though.  
> The ending might seem a little abrupt but I was unsure whether I was doing them justice or not? Especially Zelena, since I wrote from her perspective. Well, I might be inclined to continue this!

_For SPL, I hope you enjoy it ♥_

* * *

 

Zelena closes the door behind her and sighs, looking up to the sky from her place on the porch. The color oddly reminds her of paper, paper from the books she spends most — if not all of her time — reading.

That time of the year has arrived, where it gets so bloody cold you can barely feel your feet. She hasn’t checked the weather forecast, but won’t be surprised if it snows today.

What a _fantastic_ day to go out, indeed.

As she trudges through the path to her car, loneliness attaches itself to her shoulders as an old friend that she will never get rid of howsoever she tries.

But isolation was what she needed at that time. What she had desperately needed, she thinks, shuddering a little (and nothing to do with the cold now). An escape plan. It was comfortable, if not mildly pathetic, the way she would spend days on end at the beginning of her stay in Storybrooke holed up inside her farmhouse.

However, she cannot complain. Being alone is better than… her previous situation.

The sound of her heavy inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales cut through her self-absorbed train of thought. Not the best weather to go out, especially with her being prone to have an embarrassing stuffy-nose voice in the winter, but solitude is not the best idea, not anymore. Her sister always reminds her of this, encouraging her to pursue any interests she might find now that she’s not Zelena, ‘wife extraordinaire’. She needs to go out every day to avoid losing herself once again.

What solidifies her resolve is the crunch of the gravel beneath her boots, doing a good job of convincing her she is marching through some big challenge.

But what big challenge, though?

Inside the car she takes a deep breath and lets it out quickly, trying to shake off the cold. _It’s useless._ Looking at herself in the rearview mirror makes her wish she hadn’t – she _is_ different. She _has_ changed. And she finds herself at a loss…

_Who am I now? Who am I looking at? Who’s Zelena Mills?_

That’s the big challenge, it seems.

* * *

The smell of worn, well-read books is a comfort she should not take for granted. Alas, she still does, believing this place to be merely a way to pass the time away from her lonely house and not the crutch it surely is.

Zelena peruses her choices with a keen eye, moving from one section to another, her fingertips brushing through spines of books upon books as she tries to find her next victim. She rolls her eyes at her analogy even though the corner of her lips betrays her amusement with the idea.

Her boots are the sole disruption of the silence inside the building, and she honestly cannot care less; it’s not like they’ll complain. After all, she’s _Zelena,_ the weirdo isolated beyond measure and living in the countryside. Or something that resembled the countryside, at least, thanks to its location in the north-west corner of Storybrooke.

Regardless, there aren’t many people here at this moment of the day. Mornings aren’t the typical time for Storybrooke citizens to be meandering around at the library of all places.

The myriad of weird thoughts come to a halt when _Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West_ grabs her attention and so she grabs it from the bookshelf. The cover is old, slightly tattered around the edges, and in her opinion, that’s the best kind of book.

Zelena has finally taken a seat in one of the secluded tables when she hears, “Hi. I was hoping you could tell me where I can find the culinary books?” and turns to see what’s going on, to see who’s dared interrupt her newly acquired peace and quiet.

 _Of course_ it has to be that insufferable woman, she reasons, rolling her eyes in disgust. _Ingrid._

She’s your usual ‘everything is sunshine and rainbows’ kind of person. One time, Ingrid exclaimed, “Have a great day!” when Zelena got her ice cream and went to leave Any Given Sundae (ludicrous name for an ice cream shop). Zelena hasn’t entered the place again because _how could it be a ‘great day’ when it was so bloody hot the thing was melting before I managed to get home?_

_Damn you, happy-all-the-time people._

Scowling, she watches for a few moments as the library volunteer, who clearly hasn’t found the category chart yet, squirms for an acceptable answer. Sighing, Zelena drops the book on the table, leaving her purse and gloves on top of it as well. She gets up, wondering why she’s even bothering. She saunters to their location right next to the Circulation Desk.

“Shelf 35, if I’m not mistaken. There,” Zelena points to the opposite side they are on, scrunching her nose for a second, “next to that cart.” She purses her lips as she concentrates not to laugh at their bewildered faces. “Quite easily found, really.”

“Thank you,” Ingrid responds and scurries away in search of the section aforementioned.

Leaning against the counter, Zelena smirks as… what’s her name again? She skims her eyes on the nametag, and there it is: _Belle,_ who continues with her stare that seemed to measure how much of an anomaly Zelena is.

It’s hard not to think of their first unofficial meeting, when she saw Belle for the first time… It all started one week or two since Zelena had escaped London and her ex-husband’s clutches. She found the Storybrooke Free Public Library right in Main Street. Well, it was more a matter of ‘it’s _right there_ in front of your face’ than anything else, but she liked to think she found it and was not driven to enter its premises by pure boredom. That and the stares she was subjected to any time she left the house were downright irritating, to be honest, and she deserved a reprieve.

Anyway, she _found_ the library and this elder man had welcomed her with open arms (or not), his nonsense attitude not taking any of Zelena’s bullshit or her sarcasm.

“Either I finally gave in to my old age or you _are_ new around here, young lady. But don’t give me that attitude or I’ll make it really difficult for ya to find any good books around here.” Thus began a mutual respect for Gerhard, the harmless man who was waiting for the right person to take over his job.

Three months later came in Belle French (whoever named the girl was a truly uninspired person, Zelena remembered rolling her eyes when she heard it), with her enchanting accent and petite form, interested in the library as a whole. A bookworm, just like Zelena is now becoming (even if she hates to admit it). Her father’s the owner of the flower shop down the street and she’d just moved back into the country. There was something about her mother and France; however, Zelena won’t be able to tell you what it was — she was _not_ paying attention in the slightest.

Bringing herself back to the present, she watches Belle’s arms cross and… her cheeks tint a lovely shade of pink. “Sorry, um… I’ve forgotten about the list on the computer. Thank you…?”

“Zelena,” she offers, wetting lips that had gone dry.

Belle repeats her name, smiling as if she’d enjoy committing it to memory, but that’s wishful thinking on her part.

Meanwhile, the morning light peered through the window, catching Belle’s brown hair in an ethereal glow. A flutter in her stomach has her swallowing as they stare at each other’s eyes for what seems like too many of her frantic heartbeats.

The sound of a page turning somewhere inside the library makes Belle shake her head and push her hair behind her ears as she looks away for a second, undoing the magic spell they’d been woven in for those blissful moments. “Sorry again, I’m not usually— I should let you get back to your book. Thank you for your help, truly,” she says, touching Zelena’s arm.

Zelena gives her a jerky nod, her previous smile flickering now that Belle has moved away to an aisle where spotting her became near impossible.

For those blissful moments, she’d felt alive.

What a strange feeling inside her chest.

Walking away to her safe haven is difficult – difficult when her heart continues racing so much, difficult when her arm still tingles with the memory of a touch. The innocuous table and her new book aren’t that interesting anymore; her mind is busy for the rest of the day. _What books does Belle read? Is her hair as soft as it seems? What are her interests, what does she like to do?_ And no matter how much she wants to forget about it, read about Elphaba and stop questioning what makes Belle so intriguing and so different from any other human being in this forsaken town (except her sister, her wife and their son), it’s no use.

Rather annoying, really.


	2. one of these days

Her routine doesn’t have much of a variety; she prefers it this way. Wake up at the crack of dawn; get dressed; feed her grumpy cat, Peanut; get breakfast at Granny’s and go to the library most of the days. She also has lunch once a week with Regina, her sister, but that’s about it. Otherwise, she stays at home and tries her hand at all kinds of food recipes she can find.

_ Pathetic,  _ Mother would have said, but there’s neither here nor there; all that matters is reintegrating and figuring out what it means to be herself.

The following days are decidedly… weird, if Zelena’s allowed to call them so.

On Tuesday, she arrives, a few minutes past 9 a.m., and Belle greets her with a “Good morning!” and a bright smile. Zelena grumbles her own good morning (she won’t be caught thinking Belle is endearing, no) before strutting to _her_ table. In her mind, she likes to pretend it is hers.

The strangest thing happens. Belle appears on her aisle and stays busy for a while, reorganizing shelves and returning books to their rightful places, and then she whispers a question regarding the library, her back to Zelena.

“The new ink pads… Is there a chance you might know where they are…?”

“Second drawer of that dodgy cabinet in the office, you can’t miss it.”

Thus begins their little game of sorts. Belle will get there and ask the most preposterous questions she can fabricate. _Where does this go? Do we have a shelf for foreign books? Do you know where Gerhard placed the extra pens?_ Well, she’s most likely trying to learn everything she can to take Gerhard’s place as smoothly as possible in a few weeks.

“Someone just left this and I have no idea where it goes,” Belle shows her the cover of the book on Thursday, trying hard to hold back a smile.

 _“Mending of Fishing Nets,”_ Zelena snorts. “I’m quite positive it’s on ‘Arts and Recreation’. If not, there’s probably a shelf for fishing guides. The foul smell of sardines by the docks should be enough to testify that.”

And then Zelena hears precious laughter before Belle covers her mouth in her attempt to stay silent. Zelena bites her lip to avoid doing something ridiculous such as _laughing along._ They _are_ in a library, and Zelena’s boisterous laugh would get her kicked out in no time, notwithstanding Belle’s sweet nature.

* * *

One day, however, expecting another inquiry as Belle’s heels make their way to the corridor she’s in, Zelena looks up and frowns when Belle just stands there in front of her table, her anxiousness plainly written on her face and her fiddling hands. A hand pushes a book in Zelena’s direction, and she tilts her head in confusion.

“What’s this?” Zelena asks her when no explanation is forthcoming.

“You were reading some poetry yesterday, and I thought you’d find this one enjoyable.”

In the solitude of her home, Zelena will later pretend it meant Belle  _ thought of her _ .

The second time it happens, she’s returning a book. She’s just set aside her pair of gloves when Belle hands her a paperback over the counter. “I wasn’t sure you were going to come by today, but I separated this one for you. I’ve read it and saw you were leaning towards the foreign literature. I have no idea how to pronounce his name, but I know the author is one of Brazil’s greatest writers. Fantastic story, so eccentric… Anyway, I’d love to exchange some ideas with you once you’ve finished it.”

She takes _Dom Casmurro_ in her hands and hugs it to her chest, the corners of her mouth tugging into a slight smile. _She thought of me._ “Yes, I’ve been reading Chehkov’s works. This one sounds interesting. Thank you. I’ll let you know once I’m done.”

By the third time she’s received a recommendation, she can’t even look up, burying her nose in her book so Belle can’t see her wide grin and flushed cheeks.

* * *

There’s something peaceful about being indoors with the central heating on and a nice book to pass the time. Especially if said book was recommended to you by someone you…  _ fancy. _

So much so, Zelena loses track of time on that Saturday, and almost screams when a hand touches her shoulders, jumping out of the tale she was immersed in.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, Zelena.” Belle rounds the table to be in front of her, giving her a sheepish smile. “We’re closing the library for the day.”

“Oh, it’s eight o’clock already?” Zelena’s eyes widen. “My god, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Belle shakes it off. “How are you finding the book so far?”

Glancing down at the opened book in her hands, she marks the page and closes it. “Oh, it’s different from everything I’ve read! And we’re here wondering if the character’s telling the truth or not. Quite brilliant. Oh, that reminds me I haven’t checked it in yet.”

“I can’t wait for your reaction to the ending scenes! I have a feeling you’ll like it.” Belle says, her voice carrying her enthusiasm through every corner of the near empty library. “No worries, it’s yours. You’ll be here tomorrow anyway.”

Zelena’s brows furrow as she accompanies Belle to the front of the library, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. “Are you sure? Because I could do the standard procedure—”

“No, it is quite alright.” Belle whirls around and is suddenly too close to her. “I trust you.”

Her heart starts beating fast again, her palms get clammy (she almost drops the book), her feet are rooted on the spot.

_ She trusts me. But why? _

They are looking intently at each other again, just like their first meeting. But this time, there’s only _them,_ no interruptions. Except the wind outside. It’s as unruly and uncertain as her emotions, which are all over the place and difficult to grasp a single one at once – confusion, attraction, curiosity; they were all mixed together.

Belle breaks the silence. “Would you like to get some coffee tomorrow?” she asks, in a low tone, her eyes shining and hopeful. “I fear we’re never going to be able to talk properly here, what with being careful not to disrupt the silence. And I’d love to hear more of your thoughts on the book.”

Zelena opens and closes her mouth, unable to rein in her surprise. She’s at a loss for words. And that doesn’t happen often. In fact, the Mills’ sisters are never rendered speechless. Mother had made sure of it.

_There’s always a first time for everything._

“Zelena? Are you alright?”

“Yes.” She pauses. “Yes. How does… how does eight-thirty sound?"

Belle gives her an unbridled, beautiful smile and it has her smiling back. “Perfect. The library opens at—”

“Eleven.”

“One of these days I’m going to figure out how you do it,” Belle says with a chuckle.

“Do what?”

“You know  _ everything _ .”

Zelena rolls her eyes, even as warmth spreads through her body. “That’s not true…”

Belle eyes her, daring her to defy her statement.

“Fine, I’ll tell you, _one of these days.”_ She concedes, the corner of her lip lifting in a smirk.

“Promises are promises,” Belle shrugs, eyes sparkling with mirth now.

_And this is a promise I intend to keep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dom Casmurro is a fantastic book by Machado de Assis and I have no idea how the translation calls the characters and everything... So intriguing.
> 
> ANYWAY, I really hope you enjoyed this ♥


End file.
